


Interior Design

by lovingdefiance



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Chair Sex, Gags, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Love Across The Universe: Dangan Salmon Team, Lube, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 10:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17999837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovingdefiance/pseuds/lovingdefiance
Summary: “And finally I myself, supreme leader of evil, stoop so far just to say Saihara-chan isn’t completely boring, and all I get is a bunch of stupid denial and that polite face you make.That’sthe most boring thing about you, all that dumb humility. You’re better than that. Take a compliment.”Oma graciously helps Saihara take a few compliments.





	Interior Design

Oma sat at the desk in his room, idly kicking his legs as he chewed on the end of a pen. A small notebook lay open before him. The pages were colorfully littered with scribbles and what, from the capricious line breaks and punctuation, looked like some sort of rudimentary dialogue. 

“What’s that?” Saihara asked from the bed, pulling the sheet higher up as though to conceal his bare chest.

“It’s a secret,” Oma explained, adding another sentence with a judicious air and then scribbling it out again. Half of the notebook’s lines had already become similar weird scribbles, doodles of monsters and dinosaurs and stick figures lining the edges of the page. “Actually, that’s a lie - it’s a idea I’m gonna pitch to my connections in the film industry when we get outta here. It’s all about a neat murder game, like the one we almost ended up in, but without that stupid dating twist that made everything boring. Saihara-chan gets impaled on a bed of spikes right near the end. Pretty cool death scene, right? Obviously I survive, though.”

“That has to be a lie...” Saihara rolled onto his side, found that the angle made it impossible for him to read anything in the book no matter how he squinted.

“Mm, looks like you got me. How’d you know?” Oma grinned broadly at him, working on a poorly-drawn dinosaur at the bottom of the page. “You’re getting too smart for my tricks, huh. Saihara-chan’s brilliant...”

“Stop that,” Saihara protested.

“But I really mean it, y’know.” Oma’s grin faded into a neutral smile as he flipped the gnawed pen deftly between his fingers, weaving it in and out. “I know you get off on me talking down to you, and as the supreme leader of evil that’s really playing to my strengths, but you seriously gotta learn how to take a compliment. And _that_ part is not a lie.”

“The movie idea wasn’t even a good lie,” Saihara pointed out. “Is picking out that one even worth complimenting me?”

“Hmm, maybe not. How’s that explain all the other compliments you can’t take though, huh? Even when I’m gracious enough to be nice to you. And not just me, either.” Oma lazily regarded the pen, eyes half-closed as he twirled and weaved it in a quick pattern around his fingertips. “It's sooo annoying. Akamatsu-chan says you’re smart or brave when you talk about work, and then you say ‘Oh, but I’m not a _real_ detective.’”

Saihara winced at the accuracy of the statement. “It’s true, I’m not.”

“That creepy weirdo Shinguji-chan says you’re a good student, and you say you’re not _thaaat_ great, he’s _soooo_ much better.”

“Shinguji-kun is the Ultimate Anthropologist, though,” said Saihara. “So he must be better at it, right?”

“Chabashira-chan tolerates you existing near her, unlike every other guy in this place, so you get apologetic. Well, I’ll be fair, that weak attitude might be the reason she hasn’t thrown you through the dome yet.”

“See, you can’t even really criticize me for that one,” Saihara protested.

“And finally I myself, supreme leader of evil, stoop so far just to say Saihara-chan isn’t completely boring, and all I get is a bunch of stupid denial and that polite face you make. _That’s_ the most boring thing about you, all that dumb humility. You’re better than that. Take a compliment.”

“I apologize,” Saihara said a bit stiffly, frowning.

“You’re gonna _apologize_? Ew.” Oma glanced at him for a moment before seeming to lose interest, focusing again on his notebook. “Well, whatever. Maybe I’ll just have Saihara-chan get eaten by a dinosaur instead.”

“That’s kind of a weird idea, if we’re talking about murder.” Despite himself, Saihara’s interest was piqued by the sudden development. “Is the dinosaur the murder weapon?”

“Mm, probably. I bet that’s what the audience wants.” He shrugged, scratching out another line of dialogue and drawing a few large, pointy teeth on the dinosaur below. “At least that won’t be boring.”

“That’s...that’s definitely true.”

* * *

Saihara walked down the underground corridor toward the enormous metal door to Oma’s lab the following day, reflecting idly on how much more elaborate it was than his own modest setup. There was something to be said for a basic room with a nice fireplace, and a drawer with an assortment of Sherlock-esque pipes, and a silly deerstalker hat on a hatrack. He tried not to think about the array of exotic toxins.

All in all, it didn’t suit him. But there was something to be said for it, which was, once he really considered it, the fact that it was a little generic. Saihara frowned slightly; there was nothing particularly special about himself, he thought. Maybe it was perfect after all.

There was no generic element about the ornate door that opened before him to reveal the assortment of silly villain accoutrements and Oma himself, perched on his floating throne. It hovered down the steps to face him head-on, Oma smirking down upon him in a ridiculously lordly fashion. “You wanted to spend time with me today, Oma-kun?” Saihara asked, banishing the thoughts from his mind.

“Yes, and of course you’ll be wondering why I called you here today. Wellll, since you’ve come all this way...get on your knees,” Oma said grandly. Saihara stared up at him, half-smiling at the spectacle of his billowing cape, his elegantly crossed legs, the way he rested his head on one hand like a bored king. “I’m not kidding,” he said in a gentle singsong, his smile widening into a grin as he pointed at the floor. “C’mere, Saihara-chan, kneel before me.”

“Oma-kun…” He approached one step closer to the throne, looking at the silky inner lining of the cape that draped over the chair’s edge in a shimmering wave. “Where did you get that cape?”

“Huh? I didn’t tell you to ask me a question,” Oma said lightly, hopping up from the throne. It settled to the floor behind him with a quiet whir. “Are you disobeying a direct order from the supreme leader of evil?” He reached up, placing his pale hands on Saihara’s shoulders.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” His smile went rueful as Oma pushed him down to his knees at the foot of the throne. “I thought you were joking.”

“Of course not. Don’t be stupid. Like I always say, I hate lies and jokes...” His long cape swished forward around him, brushing gently against Saihara’s arms. The purple material inside moved smoothly across the fabric of his uniform. “Now - hands and knees, hands and knees!”

“R-really?” Oma clicked his tongue disapprovingly at the question and Saihara hastily complied, the metal floor cold and hard beneath his palms. “There, there, I did it.”

“Good boy,” Oma chirped. “Even though it took you a little bit to catch on.” Saihara kept his gaze leveled at the floor, hiding the faint flush that suffused his cheeks. “But today we’re gonna do something fun, okay?” He heard the faint rustle of fabric, the sound of Oma kneeling beside him and offering a condescending pat on the shoulder. “That might be a lie. But I want you to do one more thing for me. It’s super easy, so Saihara-chan won’t have aaaany trouble.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, wavering somewhere between amused and annoyed. Oma pressed something thin against his lips from below, sliding it lengthwise into his mouth like a horse’s bit. Hexagonal and smooth, he thought, feeling it with his tongue. The unmistakable scent of cedar reached his sinuses. A pencil?

“I want you to hold that riiiight there.” Oma stroked his hair, then patted lightly at his face. “You wanna know why?” Saihara, staring at the floor with single-minded and humiliated focus, nodded awkwardly. “‘Cause footstools don’t talk, Saihara-chan. Understand? For someone like you, who can’t handle a little basic kindness, something like this should be perfect.”

Saihara shivered at the casual, almost demeaning tone of his voice. Oma’s small, cold hand worked the pencil - definitely a pencil, he decided - back and forth in his mouth, pressing against the corners of his lips as though driving home how it would keep him quiet. He shifted at the faint thrill of arousal between his legs. There was a definite appeal to the idea of Oma casually using his body for something so mundane, keeping him silent and making him serve as an object. “Mmm,” he hummed in agreement.

“What did I just say?” Oma asked cheerfully, letting go of Saihara’s face to calmly stroke his hair. “Eh, I guess a little bit of creaking is fine. Because Saihara-chan’s my favorite piece of furniture, I’ll forgive a few stupid mistakes like that.” He stood up with a decisive swish of his cape and turned toward his throne, settling in with a satisfied little grunt before Saihara felt the twin weights of Oma’s polished shoes settle in the center of his back. Oma let out a long, ostentatious sigh, as though he had waited all day to rest his feet. “If you can’t take it anymore, just drop the pencil and everything stops, okay? If you bite through it, though...that’s a waste of a good pencil. So I’ll get totally mad about it, and you’ll get the meanest punishment I can think of, and that’s no lie.”

Saihara stared at the floor and tapped his back teeth against the wood experimentally, feeling the grain of it crackle the smallest bit. It would take intentional gnawing to break it. His mind worked its way idly around the circumstances as his cock reacted to Oma’s condescension, already half-hard - was being a footstool not a punishment? What could Oma have planned that could make him want to drop it, much less bite through it?

“I was thinking I’d start with ordering you to listen to me,” Oma said, his voice delighted and almost rehearsed in its steady delivery. “But first, footstools don’t have a choice...and second, Saihara-chan _always_ listens to me, huh? Even when I’m not giving orders. And he plays along, just like this, even when he doesn’t understand. One of the reasons I fell for Saihara-chan,” Oma continued, digging his heels into the center of his back. Saihara could hear the smile in his voice as he enunciated the last sentence slowly, excruciatingly; in his mind’s eye he could see Oma perched on the throne, cape flowing around him, leveling an imperious grin at his kneeling form.

Saihara grunted a little but held firm as the heels pressed in deeper, his arms quivering. The force Oma was able to exert with his slim legs was nothing compared to the pressure of his words, the easy confession that set Saihara’s pulse hammering. Whether Oma intended it or not, the physical push kept Saihara more stable than anything. A faint, grounding ache flared in his shoulders and hips at the strain.

“That’s not all I like, though!” Oma continued, rocking his shoes back and forth in a playful motion. “As the evil ruler of ten thousand people, I could have whoever I wanted. But, hmmm - Saihara-chan’s body is the best, right?” Saihara twitched at the words, closing his eyes and wincing as though Oma had struck him. “The best footstool, yeah, but...I have so much other fun with it too,” he said, his voice dipping down low and soft. “Saihara-chan always makes sure I’m having fun, every time. And not just ‘cause I’d have him executed for boring me. Even though that’s true too,” he said, punctuating his statement with a casual heel kick to Saihara’s back. “So, y’know, he shouldn’t get lazy, but...I like him so much, maybe he could even get away with that sometimes.”

Saihara grunted at the kick, the pencil giving slightly but not cracking in his mouth. Oma’s leverage was small; Saihara kept his eyes tightly closed despite the lightness of the impact, overwhelmed and shivering with an exertion that was more than physical. There were no words for the way his mingled emotions churned in his body, nervous excitement and anxiety and something like shame as Oma’s praise lanced through him. With his mouth full, there was no way to say anything to defuse it or push it out; it built up in his chest, a feeling of tense humiliation. Only the pressure of Oma’s feet, his casual kicks and the steady rocking of his heels into Saihara’s flesh sparking sharp pain in his shoulders, helped to make it bearable.

His pulse pounded in his lowered head and between his thighs as the wood crackled softly in his teeth. He shifted it to the side with his tongue to close his teeth around an unbitten part. “How’s it feel to listen to this?” Oma asked, his voice still bright. “Maybe I’m being a little bit _too_ mean, huh? Is Saihara-chan gonna get frustrated? But y’know, one of my responsibilities as your supreme leader is to figure out allll your weaknesses, then exploit them mercilessly. You knew what you were getting into.”

The pressure of Oma’s feet eased off; his shoes fell empty to the floor nearby and his bare feet came to rest on Saihara’s trembling shoulders, rocking lightly up and down as though trying to force him to the floor. Saihara bore up under the pressure, struggling to stay silent. He gnawed at the pencil in an attempt to relieve the stress. Soreness spread up his forearms, kindled a fiery ache in his knees. Oma stayed quiet for a long moment, letting him stew in the feeling.

“Lots of people would die for this kinda special treatment Saihara-chan is getting right now as my footstool. But you’re, like, my favorite piece of furniture,” he finally continued, unwavering and confident despite the words coming out of his mouth. “It’s great for me, right? As the supreme leader of evil, I’m just the type of person who _deserves_ a person who wants to understand me, and get to know me, and a person who wants to stay by my side...”

Even with his eyelids firmly closed, Saihara felt an irrational prickle of moisture at the corners of his eyes at the warmth in Oma’s tone. He found himself almost thankful for the feeling of a foot pushing down hard on the back of his head, forcing his neck down further and setting his hair in disarray. Focusing harder on the strain in his muscles, he clenched his jaw, feeling increasingly brittle wood crack under the pressure. 

“Soooo, that’s why I like Saihara-chan,” Oma sang out, pressing harder, forcing Saihara’s forehead to the floor as though in supplication. “I like Saihara-chan so much, y’know? Saihara-chan is my favorite furniture, and my favorite toy, and my faaavorite person. It’s easy for someone like me to say things like that, but you wanna know something true?” His voice dropped down, low and silky and secretive. “I really _mean_ it. Why would I lie to a footstool?”

Saihara understood why Oma had explained how to make everything stop. It was more than a little tempting to let his makeshift gag fall away. It was even tempting to finish biting through it and move on to something conventional, something that would let the tears pricking at the corners of his closed eyes make sense. Oma was giving him too much praise no matter how he tempered it with normal humiliation, almost more than Saihara could bear in his helpless condition, more than he could accept and more than he knew what to do with. A lump grew in his throat.

Oma was ready for that too, he realized with a startling pang - he had prepared some ordinary punishment in case everything became too much for him. “Nnngh,” he groaned in spite of himself. He closed his eyes tighter, dull pain blossoming at the sides of his head, his arms shaking with the effort of bearing up beneath Oma’s legs. There was something excruciating about the idea that Oma understood the effect his judgment would have.

“Ah…” The pressure of Oma’s feet on his shoulders lifted after a final light kick. Saihara heard the soft rustle of fabric again as Oma descended from the throne and knelt beside him, stroking his hair back into place. “I have such great taste,” he murmured, sounding genuinely pleased. “Lucky for you I don’t fall all over myself for healthy self-esteem, huh? Or the ability, to, y’know, take a few basic compliments.” Small, cold hands cupped Saihara’s cheeks, forcing his head up. “Okay, so! Good boy! Saihara-chan can kneel and hold a pencil for me after all.” He removed the pencil; Saihara opened his bleary eyes, licked his lips, and watched Oma inspect the series of deep bite marks along most of the length of it. It was one of Oma’s colored pencils, he realized; carmine red, to be exact. His mouth still tasted faintly of cedar. “Looks like it was just a little bit hard for you, but I’ll forgive it just this once.”

“That wasn’t fair, Oma-kun,” he managed to say through the lump in his throat.

“No,” Oma agreed. “It’s what I was working on the other day. It’s my award-winning screenplay, but you didn’t get eaten by a dinosaur after all. What a relief, right?” Saihara stayed quiet for a long moment. “Does Saihara-chan wanna punish me for it?” Saihara, half-startled, glanced waveringly up at him; he looked serious about the offer, his mouth a sober and unsmiling line. “Put me on my knees in front of my own throne,” he suggested with odd solemnity. “Bend me over it if you wanna.”

“No,” he decided. It would be irresponsible to do anything like that if he were angry. More than that, though, Oma had done nothing to make him angry. There was no resentment, just a shaky, vulnerable helplessness, a sense of humiliation that was more about himself.

“You want me to keep giving the orders for a little while?” Saihara gritted his teeth and nodded, blinking away the residual moisture in his eyes. “C’mere, then, your supreme leader wants to see you naked. Get on the throne, okay?” Saihara accepted the hand offered to him, climbing awkwardly to his feet and grimacing in discomfort as his sore legs straightened out. “I want you to do one more thing for me. You gotta say ‘thank you’ when I say something nice.” Saihara winced, glancing away. “Ohhhh? It looks like you wanna deny a direct command. Even though you’re my loyal footstool,” he sang out, "so that would be _insubordination_! Maybe I'd even have to gag you again and _make_ you listen, how about that? What do you say?”

“T-thank you…” It felt as though the words were being dredged up from his gut, stirring up the shame that had only just settled. He stretched his shoulders in a self-conscious motion and obediently stripped, watching from the corner of his eye as Oma did the same. His stomach, already wavering with humiliation, flipped in nervous arousal.

There was never any self-consciousness in the way Oma undressed. He flung his uniform and cape off as though he had been waiting forever to do it, kicked his pants halfway across the room with a shrill whinny of laughter. “Mm, does Saihara-chan think I can’t tell he’s watching?” Oma mused a little too loudly, casting a wicked grin at him. Saihara hurriedly looked away.

“I’m sorry.” Oma pointed to the throne.

“Why? I got nothing to be ashamed of. Have a seat, Saihara-chan.” Saihara obeyed and found the chair a little hard, surprisingly unwelcoming. “Yeah, looks nicer than it feels, huh? That’s how leadership is, y’know,” he sighed. “See what I have to put up with?” Smiling, he climbed up onto Saihara’s legs, facing him. “Disappointed? Wish I left the cape on? Ah, Saihara-chan is a way nicer throne already.”

“This is how you sit on a throne?” Saihara asked a little weakly, half-recovered from the emotional turmoil and readying himself to play a role again. He glanced down to see Oma already hard, his cock bobbing excitedly between his legs as he settled eagerly on Saihara’s lap. Pausing, he leveled a severe glance up into Saihara’s eyes. “Thank you,” he amended hastily.

“I’m the supreme leader here,” Oma pointed out, “so I can sit any way I wanna sit. Who’s gonna stop me, _you_?” He knelt upright and, seemingly out of nowhere, slipped a bottle of lubricant and a foil packet into Saihara’s hand. “Help me out here,” he said, wrapping his arms around Saihara’s neck and canting his slim hips forward.

Saihara had learned not to question his casual sleight-of-hand. “Ah, right.” He squeezed slickness over his fingers and reached down under Oma to press into him, only to find something hard and warm already there. “Um…”

“Is there a problem?” Oma asked, shifting forward to give him easier access. He pressed his fingertips curiously against the object, curled his fingers around what he realized was the base of a metal plug.

“N-no…” He looked up at Oma’s widening grin of satisfaction, his eyes glimmering slits of pleasure. He thought about the rocking motion of Oma’s feet on his shoulders earlier, the way it would have worked the plug steadily back and forth inside him, the way it would have jostled with each kick.

“Then help me out,” Oma prompted. Saihara’s cock throbbed at the idea; he reached down with his other hand to press gently around the base, working the flare of the toy out of Oma’s body with a careful rotating pull. Back and forth, watching his face flush a soft, rosy pink, his lips parting on a contented groan - Oma leaned forward and nestled his face in the crook of Saihara’s neck, moaning softly as the plug slid out. Saihara set it precariously to the side, wincing as it tumbled from the throne with a clatter. “I’ve been playing with it for _hours_ ,” Oma murmured, his smiling mouth pressed against Saihara’s throat as Saihara slipped two fingers into him, found him slick and pliant. “Thinking about this.”

“Ah, really…” Saihara used his dry hand to unwrap the packet and roll the condom over himself, smearing the remaining lubricant over it afterward. The rest, he felt confident doing - stabilizing Oma’s slim frame and holding his own latex-sheathed dick upright, working it into Oma’s descending body and letting gravity help it along. Oma sank it into himself with a long, loud sigh, his arms tightening around Saihara’s neck as he worked it in. “Really?” Saihara repeated breathlessly at the feeling, the tense, slick heat engulfing him inch by inch. “You, um...thought about this?”

“Mmm…” He squirmed a little, panting softly as he settled himself fully into Saihara’s lap. He rolled his hips experimentally, releasing Saihara’s neck to plant his hands on the arms of the throne for leverage. “Yeah, I did,” he murmured, his eyes glittering. He rolled his hips again, clenching tight and sweet with the upward motion. “And you’re everything I thought you’d be.”

The new position made him lean back, allowing Saihara a view of his lithe body as he settled down again. “Thank you. Oh,” he breathed, hands still lingering on his narrow hips as though to keep him stable. His fingers quivered at the sensation. Oma leaned back a little further as though showing off, his expression pleased, a flush of arousal splashed all the way down to his pale chest. “You always feel so good,” he said, sliding his hands up Oma’s sides. It was true; Oma clenched firmly around his cock with every motion, the tight channel of his body warm and pulsing and almost too good to be real. There was so much of him, his frame petite but developed, the pale skin beneath Saihara’s hands overlaying a layer of lean, working muscle.

“Yeah, _obviously_ I do. Want me to do it some more?” He barely waited for Saihara’s desperate nod before he began riding his cock in earnest, rolling his hips up and down in a delicious motion that left Saihara breathless, his flushed prick bobbing from its nest of deep plum curls as though begging for attention. As always, he was shamelessly vocal in his enjoyment, not bothering to stifle his breathy gasps or the way he cried out when Saihara reached down to grope at him. “More,” he panted. Saihara wrapped his hand around Oma’s dick as best he could, jerking a little awkwardly. Oma shuddered and squirmed, riding with a bright, feverish flush making its way across his face. “Just like that, Saihara-chan is so good for me, perfect-”

“Oma-kun,” he choked out, overwhelmed by the sensation and by the sudden praise that pierced him through. He shivered in disappointment as Oma slowed, hands white-knuckled on the arms of the throne as though struggling to stop himself from moving. “Thank you,” he gasped as though Oma had struck him, “thank you.”

“That’s right,” he grated, rolling his hips slow and torturous. Saihara stared helplessly at the sight of himself sliding inside again, Oma’s lithe frame settling into his lap and twitching, throbbing around him. “Just as expected from Saihara-chan, just right…” He let his head fall back as he sped up, rolling his hips again and again at the same devastating pace. “Ah, Saihara-chan feels incredible,” he gasped in a low, breathy voice, and whether he was intentionally playing it up or not the sound lit a fire in Saihara’s lower belly. He closed his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed completely.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he listened to the slick noises, his fingers still curled tight and squeezing Oma’s length as he worked him quick and merciless. Slowly, he opened his eyes again; he had never seen so much of Oma at once before like that, bared and so receptive to touch. He felt feverishly hot, his hands working desperately at the arms of the throne as though he couldn’t get enough. “Thank you, thank you,” he gasped, feeling electricity arcing and snapping low in his abdomen, his cock twitching inside the tight canal of Oma’s body. “ _Please,_ ” he begged, struggling to hold back the heat surging in his belly, collecting sweet and unbearable between his legs. “I’m almost, please-”

"Don't worry, I'm..." Oma’s head fell forward again, his face drawn in exertion, and his body shuddered helplessly as he continued to move. His breath came in sharp, sobbing bursts. “So, so close,” he panted, “just don’t stop, don’t - aah, ah, Saihara-chan-!” He stiffened, his cock pulsing in Saihara’s hand as he emptied himself out messily, spattering Saihara’s abdomen with thick whiteness. “Ahh…” He shivered with oversensitivity, batting Saihara’s hand away before he began to move again on his quivering legs, his thin arms trembling as he lifted himself up.

“Oma-kun,” Saihara protested, urging him upward. “Here, let me.” Oma knelt upright, letting the still-hard cock slip out of his body, and settled back on his knees. Saihara reached down to finish himself off, flushing nervously as Oma watched with a satisfied smile.

“Y’know, I could watch Saihara-chan touch himself allll day,” Oma murmured, draping his arms around Saihara’s shoulders.

“Ah...thank you,” he breathed, so far gone that even Oma's compliment seeped down to join the electrifying heat low in the pit of his stomach. Oma reached down, curling his fingers around Saihara’s hand.

“I could touch you all day too,” he continued in a low voice, craning his neck to speak into Saihara’s ear as his hand squeezed Saihara’s fingers tighter around his own cock. Saihara grunted and tilted his head back, shivering. “Are you almost there? It looks like it feels good. You're taking these compliments so _well_ now, Saihara-chan looks great like this...”

“Th-thank you.” He trembled harder at Oma’s words, tilting his head to the side to give Oma better access as he leaned forward to plant open-mouthed kisses along his throat. It took only a few moments before Saihara bit back a cry and shuddered forward, the coiling heat in his belly finally erupting. Oma squeezed him and kept his grip tight, helping to work him through the spasms wracking his body until he pulled his own hand away and pushed Oma’s fingers back. “Ah-!" he gasped, oversensitized. "Ah, Oma-kun-”

“There,” Oma said, smiling in self-satisfaction as Saihara gradually stilled and let out a long, shivering breath. “Saihara-chan did a great job today at pleasing me, I think.” He settled back, his fingers toying with switches concealed along the arms of the throne. It rose delicately from the ground.

“Er…” Oma easily piloted the floating chair back to his desk, reaching behind himself to fetch a box of tissues. He pulled a few free from the box and set to work carefully wiping the mess from Saihara’s abdomen, his expression surprisingly serious as he worked.

“What's thaaaat? Just because you got off doesn’t mean you’re off the hook when it comes to following orders, y’know.” Saihara uncertainly watched him work, his hands thorough but gentle as he wiped away the come and threw the tissues into the trash can beneath the desk. “Saihara-chan is still my loyal subordinate, right?” He reached down to touch Saihara’s softening dick, rolling the condom from him and wrapping it in another tissue. "There. Now let's get cleaned up for realsies, 'kay?"

“Ah,” Saihara said ruefully, half-smiling. “I see. I don’t recall agreeing to be your subordinate, but..." He cleared his throat, glancing away as a faint flush suffused his cheeks. "Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oma later discovered that his ridiculous dinosaur murder weapon plan had already been played completely straight by Jurassic World 2. "Aw, man..."


End file.
